Fallout: Path of Friendship
by jak3combat
Summary: New Vegas. A shining beacon of life and wealth in the Mojave Wasteland. My city. I am known as the Courier, leader of the newly Independent New Vegas. And I think I've gone insane. Well, more insane.
1. New Device

**Author's Note: I'm sorry for those of you who enjoyed the first edition of PoF, but we all know that I can do so much better than what I did.**

"Mug! Mug! Give me the fucking mug!" A small voice screeched from the room that the man was about to enter. "I had that mug! You stole it! You bitch!"

"You? Put your rusty, filthy and rough little robotic arms on this cupware? Preposterous!" A snobby, female voice jeered from the same room. "All cookware and silverware must be scrubbed and cleaned professionally!"

"That's my fucking joooooob!"

The man slowly wobbled inside and lazily looked to his right. A little monowheel robot was reaching and hopping up towards a stomach-high sink that was currently purging it's faucet.

His lazy expression remained unchanged and he went up to the long table on the left side of the room. It had a big, stainless console on it with a small, static monitor and keyboard in front. To the side of this computer was several large, rusty trays filled with rich soil. Several thin stalks of plant life emerged and the man slowly went and picked a maize from amongst them.

"Really Sink?" The man said while munching on his corn-like produce. "You stole one of Muggy's mugs again?" He raised an eyebrow. "I thought we already established that 'mug-cleaning' was his duty?"

"And dishes too!" The little robot promptly added while turning towards him, revealing a little screen in front, displaying a smiling coffee cup.

"Yes I-I know b-but…" The Sink stammered. "But to let HIM clean? To let a dirty automata like him wash this cup clean?! Such tomfoolery shall never happen! And that is when I shall step in and set things of this matter correctly!"

The man only sighed before reaching in the sink to pull out a wet mug, much against the Sink's protests.

He handed it back to the tiny robot, who snatched it up and zipped out of the room, laughing maniacally. A minute later, the robot stopped fondling the coffee cup and held it in front of him, asking himself quietly, "What the fuck do I do now?"

The little robot sulked even lower. "I hate my life…"

The shirtless man finished swallowing his previous mouthful of maize. "You know Sink, how the hell do you manage to get this stuff?" He asked while stuffing the half-eaten vegetable into the fridge. "You have like no arms, so how do things somehow manage to enter you grasp?" (Truly, it was one of the biggest mysteries of Big MT, well with the bigger mystery being how many toes did 8 used to have. All the personalities in the Sink were baffled by the strange movements of objects that ended up in the kitchen appliance. Even the Think Tank have no clue on the causes of this phenomenon.)

"Don't put your unfinished food into the fridge with the clean produce, that's unsanitary!" The Sink scolded. "And…" She paused. "Where do you think you're going?! Courier?!"

The Courier wobbled back into the main room and went through the doorway that lead to the balcony, giving a view of the Big MT and it's barren, shale-colored, landscape.

"Ahhhh yes, sweet relief," he sighed with a smile.

Big MT used to be a research facility that was hidden in the mountain, until an accident at the Y-0 Facility caused the whole top of the mountain to be blown off (Something about Dr. Klein forgetting basic math, the number two, and a rubber chicken).

Now the pre-war facility is a very circular crater that is miles wide, with buildings scattered around, each with a different purpose. All of these sub-facilities were connected by pipes and walkways that sourced from the large dome in the center, to which the Courier was staying in the high up, built-in apartment.

A stream of crystalline, yellow liquid flowed from the top railings. It arched down until it splattered across the white dome, giving it a (in terms of the Sink) filthy stain. The Courier's head was cocked up. His eyelids rested, and he held a big smile on his face. The stream of mysterious liquid stopped flowing, and the Courier fidgeted with his nether region and returned back inside.

"That is….absolutely unhygienic!" The Sink said, mortified. "I have never seen so much disregard for basic hygiene! You need a scrubbing!"

"What?! There aren't any bathrooms!" The Courier retorted from inside the main room. "If it's someone to blame, it's Mobius! He forgot to install bathrooms! I can't remember SEEING a toilet in all of Big MT!"

He then crossed his arms and gave a stubborn grunt. "I'm just doing nature's business, Biology stuff. Dawn would've been proud. Wherever that bastard is now."

"You know, you could always just ask," said a suave, masculine voice from the Sink's room. "I mean, I can plant seeds and grow them good and all. But it doesn't help to have a little bit of...'nature's assistance'."

The Courier shook his pointed finger to the large modem resting on the table. "No," he stated. "You already tried to seed Toaster, Muggy and Sink. I ain't letting you get THAT close to me!"

A small cough came from behind the Courier. "If I may interrupt Sir's quarrels?" A politely, british-fainted accent asked. The Courier's attention was shifted towards the circular, holographic table, for which he rested his two hands on.

"What is it, CIU?" The Courier asked.

"I'd like to begin by apologizing to Sir for interrupting Sir's previous conversations," the table explained. "But I have just received a message from the Think Tank addressed directly to Sir. They request Sir's presence as they have something they wish to show Sir. They have not given any details of what they wish to show Sir, but I guarantee Sir that it is not a show-and-tell of a Cazadore spliced with a Radscorpion this time."

"Then it's probably a yao guai crossed with a bloatfly…" The Courier muttered.

The Courier hung his head low and stumbled himself quickly to his room. He went to a locker and pulled out several articles of clothing. He then later emerged from the room readied, and tired at the same time.

Instead of bare skin, he wore very faint, olive combat armor that was once military-grade riot gear. His bare arms and chest were now covered with thick plates and leather sleeves that extended up to the wrists. He had two bandoliers covering atop of the worn-out thick plates: one with a line of ammunition with the other being lined with several small pouches.

Hanging from his shoulders was a dirty black duster that covered his olive armor and drooped down to the tops of his boots. His arms stretched out of the sleeveless holes, and the back of the duster separated by the inner vertex of his two legs. The revealing gap on his front displayed the truth of how armored he was.

The picture on the back was painting of a blue circle with 12 silver stars circling the edges of it, surrounding a larger 13th centered star. Below was several red and blue streaks that lead away.

By the collar of the duster, white letters were stitched on, labeling "Old World Justice."

Hanging on his back was a very long rifle, labeled 'Anti-Materiel Rifle' in his Pip-Boy. Strapped across from that, making an X shape, was a shorter rifle, labeled 'All-American'. It was a green camo Marksman Carbine that dealt slightly higher armor penetration then the normal carbines. One one hip sat a .45 auto pistol labeled 'Light Shining in Darkness' while the other had a bag tied to it filled to the brim with various grenades. In one hand was a bottle of sunset sarsparilla.

He walked over to the two elevators at the end while adjusting his clothing.

"What do those wackos want this time?" He asked to himself irritably. 'Those wackos are more fucked up than me! God please help me if another deathclaw was captured.'

He ended up in a rather large, dark but shiny room. On the opposite wall were so many computers and buttons that it was a miracle the Think Tank still remember which is which. A small staircase rose up, linking the ground floor to the catwalk that attached to the opposite wall barely seven feet high. All around, five floating pods with brains minded their own businesses. Each had their own color and three flat screen monitors protruding from the chassis: one mouth and two eyes.

The Courier walked up and stood in front of the blue Think Tank that awaited directly up the center stairs.

"You guys wanted to see me? Please tell me it's another new weapon." The Courier asked while clapping his hands in prayer. 'That won't blow up in my face.' He silently added.

The floating brain-bot turns to face the awaiting Courier, showing him their brains suspended in biogel and their facial monitors' slight static.

"THE LOBOTOMITE ANSWERS THE SUMMONS! THE LOBOTOMITE WHO SAVED US! AND IT COMES USING IT'S...LEGS!" The blue brain-bot said in a loud, unchanging tone. The Courier could not help but cringe at Dr. Klein's tone. It was as if his 'caps lock' key was broken and now he was forced to yell like this for the rest of his days.

"Why the hell do you keep calling me a lobotomite? If anyone here is closest to being one, it's you," the Courier pointed out. But the loud Doctor only ignored his statement and went on about his own reasons.

"I…" The blue bot stopped and turned himself around until he caught the glances of the light blue Think Tank that was looking back at him. "...WE HAVE BEEN MAKING SOME BREAKTHROUGH TECHNOLOGIES! NEW TELEPORTATION TECHNOLOGY THAT NO LONGER NEEDS LODESTONES! AND WE HAVE ALSO MADE A NEW TRANSPORTALPONDER!"

"And you want me to test it, so 'we' can find out where it dumps me." The Courier said, crossing his arms.

"THIS IS WHY WE NEED THE LOBOTOMITE AND HIS PENIS-HANDS' HELP! FOR THE SAKE...OF SCIENCE!"

The Courier held his fingers in front of his face. He gazed and studied each finger and moved it accordingly.

"Does this look like a penis to you?" The Courier asked with a moderate expression. He stuck out his right hand towards Dr. Klein, with all of his fingers contracted, except for his middle finger and thumb. The doctor simply ignored his question and gesture, and continued to ramble about his academic success. Sighing to himself, he walked around a little bit.

Mid-way through, he stopped, before jogging to a Think Tank with a pale, green chassis.

"Sup 8?" He greeted while giving a small wave.

"!# %^#$ #$% $% #?" Random, ambiguous noises came from the speaker box as the Think Tank faced the Courier

"Everything is fine…." The Courier answered.

"! #% ! $^&*&%$%%$#^* "

"Heh, yeah 8. It's not everyday when you get offered a chance to go someplace new!" He said.

Out of all the Think Tank who were plagued with crazy and psychosis, The Courier found Dr. 8 the most sane and tolerable, and in fact, a friend. Unfortunately, Dr. 8's voice module was damaged prior to an unexpected meeting with a Brotherhood Elder, so now all he can say are random code. Somehow, the Courier understands him through the combined knowledge of Robco Terminal coding and keen perception. And a little bit of correct guessing.

The Courier tilted his head. "Say 8, do you know how this teleportation stuff actually works?" He asked before drinking the last drops of his sarsparilla. "Because I don't know shit!" He then broke out a large laugh, which then prompted him to... *Braaaaaaap!*

"!# $^&^*%^&%%^# #%# $%$"

"Better hurry up before another one comes." He warned while grinning.

"!## $#^#$&# # #)^&~!#$ "

"Woah woah woah, slow down dude," The Courier shook his hands in front of 8. "I just want the general idea, alright? Try to explain it simply, without equations and that other scientist mumbo jumbo. Like try to explain it to an average post-apocalyptic american who suffered severe brain damage."

" !#! #$ #% $ # ^&. ! # $% !#% #!$_+!$# "

"Huh huh," The Courier nodded.

" !# !$# %$%#! ##%^#"

"Hmm."

" !#$ %#$ % $% % %$"

"Yeah, I think I have a good idea on THAT theory."

" !#$ % !$ #%$ $%. $#$# %%#$%!#^*)%"

"Okay…"

"!# %%$ %#$ ^#^#%$ %"

"MmmmHmmm."

"! # #$ #$$$% % !$^# !"

"Alright."

" #!$# % % %# #$% ^%"

"Oh…"

"!#! $#% %$ !$!#%!%!"

"Ohhhh….!"

"#$!% $% ^ %$% $% ! #$!"

"Ohh! I get it!" He exclaimed while clapping his hands together.

"! ##$!$!%$%^&^$ $! !#^^#&#*"

"Yeah, that actually makes some sense!" He remarked with an enlightened smile. "Why can't anyone be as smart as you? All everyone else does is say words that they expect me to understand on the spot!"

"! #! $% $^ $&#$%?"

"Nice seein' ya, 8. Thanks for actually making sense!" He said as he walked back to the elevators. "And don't worry, I'll take your Sonic Transmitter with me to this new place, just like you asked."

He paused before spazzing his hands out. "The chips too!"

"#!#$^ $% %$?"

"No problemo!" He finished off before heading back to the Sink.

_'Now, what the fuck should I bring?'_


	2. New Place

**Reviews:**

**LexiconHuka:**  
**Toaster: Just for that, you won't burn when I torch the rest of the world!**

**Adjuster: Yep!**

**ShiningShadow1965: Thanks!**

"Alright, got my Pip-Boy full of food and I am ready to go," The Courier smiled before shifting the strap attached to the Anti-Materiel Rifle he hung over his shoulder. The Courier stepped out of the front entrance of the Think Tank Dome and looked down at the golden Transportalponder in his grip. "I should probably get away from the Dome, just in case something happens. Don't want Klein angry with me if I take away a chunk and allow the damn Lobotomites in... Again. Though that was his fault more than mine..."

With a swig of a bottle of Nuka Cola, he started off in a random direction.

Barely even stepping 100 feet after leaving the dome, he was approached by a strange man wearing a brown jumpsuit. The man wore a strange mask and mouthpiece that made it impossible to see his expressions (not like anyone really wanted to). His head was shaved completely and the skin on his cranium had long scars streaking across the flesh.

He slowly approached the Courier in a primitive manner, holding a glowing hatchet with a tight grip with the head facing the ground. He growled in some inaudible language that reminded the Courier of Groknak. The Courier finished the last drops of his drink before lazily discarding it behind himself, leaving a crash of glass that sounded from the concrete.

The Courier rolled his eyes. "Fucking lobotomites…"

He reached down and pulled Light Shining in Darkness from it's holster.

"You guys are worse than those Legion assassins!" The Courier called out before aiming down the sights and squeezing the trigger three times in quick succession. Three hollow point .45 auto rounds were sent flying out of the small barrel and into the Lobotomite. Two struck the once human's chest while the third went in between his eyes. The third wound would have been instantly fatal, if there was still a brain encased in his skull. As it was, the third round was still just enough to kill him, sending the body crumpling to the ground.

"I'll take that!" The Courier said, pulling the weapon from the iron grip of the lobotomite. With a shrug, he stuck it into his Pip-Boy and looked at his surroundings once more. "Might as well teleport here." With a grin, he raised the Transportalponder and squeezed the trigger, disappearing in a bright, golden light, bringing a chunk of concrete and the Lobotomite with him.

_Unknown Location_  
_Unknown Day_  
_Unknown Year_  
_Approximately 10:30 AM Local Time_  
_ 9:39 AM Mojave Time_

"Ugh..." I groaned, slowly opening my eyes. Sunlight graced my eyeballs, forcing me to shut them and look around my body for my pair of aviators. Didn't pull them off of a skull, no sir! (Actually found them next to a skull.) Putting the sunglasses on, I slowly sat up, taking a deep, slightly hesitant breath. I swear, ever since I came back from the Sierra Madre, I've been a twitchy little bastard. You can quote Dawn on that, too.

Wonder how he's doing in his original dimension, anyway...

"Klein? 8? Anybody?" I asked into my Pip-Boy, and waited a full minute for a response. The brains had tweaked the thing so now it served as a communicator to them instead of just being a storage tank/monitor for everything that could happen to me.

_'Figures...'_ I thought with a frown, getting to my feet. _'Alright, there's no Cloud or Ghost People around, so I'm not back at that place.'_ I mused with a small shudder, turning in a full circle after the slight dizziness left. '_It's a forest, but way too thick for me to be in Zion. Maybe somewhere in the Northeast?'_

With that thought in my head, I rolled my shoulders, pulled my .50 rifle off of my back, and set off in a southern-ish direction, intent on finding civilization. And anything on the way there that attacked me would be swallowing a round or two of .50 explosive ammo.

Wonder why bullets don't count as weight in my Pip-Boy...

Anyway, I kept walking in one direction, before I happened across a chasm with a very unstable looking bridge. I thought the bridges in Zion were dangerous, then I saw this one. It's like every other plank of wood had rotted away or been knocked down, the ropes were frayed all to hell, and the stakes the ropes were attached to were loose.

Natural choice? Walk around. Mine? Be a dipshit and carefully cross, since I knew there wasn't another way to cross and I didn't feel like wasting C-4 on a tree big enough to cover the gap.

Needless to say, my luck was good enough that I didn't fall into the chasm and break a leg or something. Grinning, I continued on my way, knowing that bridges were always a sign of some civilization. Even if they were dead through the radiation or some odd critter that I haven't seen yet, I could still find some sort of civilization.

"I really need something to pass the time, other than just looking around, even though it is a beautiful forest." I finally cracked, placing a wireless ear bud into my left ear, which connected to my Pip-Boy's audio features.

Out of all the enhancements that the Think Tank did to it, one of them included the ability to pick up and store radio broadcasts that went as far as the northern half of the east coast. Sadly, I only found about two dozen, which meant that there were less stable settlements between the Mojave and what remains of the Atlantic Ocean.

* * *

Walking down the path, I could tell there had been traders through here. After looking close enough, I had noticed tracks pointed towards the way I was facing.

"Where there's traders, there's settlements..." I muttered, putting away my AMR and pulling forth a .45 sub-machine gun modified with a drum magazine. As a precaution, I also pulled out my authentic katana and attached the sheath to my left hip.

_'Never hurts to be prepared.'_ I thought, cracking my neck and removing my rebreather (a gift from the Boomers), placing it in storage while taking out a riot helmet. The words 'FORGIVE ME MAMA' were scrawled across the forehead, while the green visor stared at me. I knew for a fact that when it was turned on, it appeared that I was a green-eyed demon, staring into one's soul. Satisfied with the way it looked, I removed my beret, put on the helmet, and replaced the beret where it was before.

I always wanted to know how it let me see better, but I have up questioning it a while ago. Only Boone, Cass, Veronica, Raul, Dawn, ED-E, Arcade, Lily, Rex (more or less), and I knew about the odd appearance. It wasn't just the 1st Recon berets, either; clothing, head wear, armor, and even some weapons increase our abilities. I took a moment to look around and frowned.

"Zion was louder than this place..." I muttered. "Only time it gets this quiet is when there's Yao Guai, Deathclaws, or Cazadors nearby." That put me on guard as I activated my helmet's night vision.

* * *

"That's an odd hut." I muttered, having stumbled across the structure around dusk. Hope they'll let me stay the night, since I knew predators could be nocturnal, and usually were. When I stepped up to the door, I noticed it was more suited for a child (10-14) instead of an adult. Taking that in mind, I took a moment to straighten my jacket before knocking.

"What is that I hear? A visitor must be here." A voice came from inside.

_'Midget? That wasn't a child's voice...'_ I thought, looking at the door in confusion. What opened the door was anything but human.

What looked at me was pretty much a small brahmin with only one head, a white and grey striped pattern, and really big, expressful eyes. Except it looked nothing like a brahmin.

"Er... hi." I said after a moment, trying to keep an open mind (I traveled with Dawn, after all). I could tell it was doing the same. "Would it be alright if I came in?" It nodded and stepped out of the way, allowing me inside. I crouched down and went in, ignoring the** [DETECTED]** at the top of my vision.

Inside the hut was what I pretty much expected; tribal. It was big enough to where I could fully stand up though, which is what really mattered to me. A large, odd-looking pot stood in the middle of the room atop a fire pit, while a bunch of jars filled with various stuff lined the shelves. I took all of this in while I slid my sub-machine gun onto my back, adjusting the strap to where it would rest comfortably if I wasn't wearing saturnite/Kevlar armor.

"You have a nice looking place, ma'am." I said, and meant it. For something built after the war, it looked great. There wasn't a sign of scrap metal, the floor wasn't warped/rotten, and everything was in pristine shape. Kinda like coffee mugs.

"Thank you." The creature bowed her head as she spoke, indicating that this wasn't just a trick being played on me by a jerkass.

"I'm sorry if I seem rude, but what are you?" I asked after my brief inspection of her home.

"I am one of the Zebra folk, from a land often gone unspoke." She explained, doing the rhyming thing again. I couldn't help but ask.

"Why are you rhyming?" I questioned as I removed my beret and cleaned the patch off, the zebra grinned, which looked odd (to me) on her face.

"I do it from time to time to help myself concentrate." She answered. "It's a good way to keep one's mind in such a clean state." I chuckled.

"Where are we?" I asked, wondering where I was. Last I knew, Dawn said he couldn't find the lifeforms of other ponies when he was in the Mojave. Or when he got back from his trip to the DC Wasteland.

"We are in the Everfree Forest, but only a mere ten minute trot from the edge. The land itself is known as Equestria." She explained. I frowned.

"What am I doing here..." I muttered, looking off to the side. Dawn sad that he was forced into a different universe, not just another planet. It's been at least a hundred years for him from what I've gathered, so the scars of war in this country should be relatively healed.

This place might be a good vacation spot for my group, though. I know Veronica would get a kick out of here.

"Might I ask what you are, my friend?" She asked, snapping me out of my musing.

"Hm?" I hummed, before shaking my head and removing my helmet and mask combination. From her reaction, I could tell she thought I was a robot or something. I placed the helmet into my inventory before answering.

"I am a human (or at least _was_), scientific name Homo Sapiens, co-ruler of Independent New Vegas and part-time Courier." I said with a short and rather cheesy bow. "I go by a few names, but the most prominent one is The Courier."

"You go by a job title?"She questioned with an eyebrow raised. "What is your name?"

"Only those close to me know who I really am." I said, but gave a little grin. "Since this is a new place for me, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to tell you. My name is Ivan Darman." My tone at the end 'suggested' that I'd find it rude if she didn't offer up her name in return. Truthfully, I just wanted to call her something other than 'Zebra'.

"My name is Zecora." She said with a small bow. I grinned and rubbed my hands, before politely looking over her jars full of stuff to see if I could recognize anything. "Might I ask what that strange club on your back is?"

"It is a .45 sub-machine gun outfitted with a drum magazine." I pulled out a random bullet (5.56mm) and handed it to her. "That bullet's different than a .45, but they pretty much go with the same concept. That kinda dull tip gets blown from the tube due to gunpowder and hits something at supersonic speeds." I paused, staring right at a broc flower. "Give them enough distance and they'll pretty much fall to the ground." I had a grenade launcher in my inventory, but she didn't need to know that 40mm and 25mm 'bullets' would explode upon contact with the ground. Or anything else, for that matter.

"What could make you humans create such a device?" Zecora asked, holding the bullet out to me. I politely declined the thing, allowing her to keep it. I hated HP bullets, in all honesty.

"War." I said with a small frown. "When we made armor able to deflect arrows, we made muskets, which were the first guns. Couple hundred years later, we have those. Our weapon technology continues to find new ways to off our race."

"No offence, but your kind is setting itself up for failure." She bluntly said. I chuckled, confusing her.

"I like it when people don't beat around the bush." I muttered. "Zecora, we've already failed. As soon as we found out that the sharp end of a stick can kill or a bone can fracture other bone when applied hard enough, we've failed. Humanity is down, but we're far from out at the moment. Hopefully the Great War slapped hard enough to wake us up."

"How long was this war?" Zecora questioned, morbid curiosity winning over.

"A long time, I think." I shrugged. "Didn't grow up in a Vault, which were large underground shelters, so I couldn't tell you. The event that buggered up the world took mere seconds, though." I couldn't tell how she did it, but she fucking paled.

"Let's get away from this depressing topic, shall we?" Zecora nodded, grateful to change the subject.

"So, what do you do for a living?" I asked, carefully taking a seat while browsing the food I stocked up on. I had a lot of Brahmin steaks, something of which I was sure would make Zecora nervous.

"I am a potion brewer, most of which I must keep preserved as if they were newer." She explained. "Most of Ponyville's potion supply comes from one such as I." That was cheesy as hell. I pulled out a box of snack cakes and opened it.

"I run New Vegas and a casino on the side." I said after a moment. I could tell she was wondering where the food came from. "Once in a while I'll pull a Courier and take a few jobs, giving in to my inner wanderlust. I have instructions to a group of close friends so they can run the place in my absence."

* * *

After a while, she was yawning more than speaking, turning in a moment later. I took a small bed in a guest room and took off my armor for more comfortable clothing.

"Let's see if the map updated..." I muttered so I wouldn't wake Zecora up. Indeed it did; Equestria was a lot lager than the Mojave. Around the center of the huge map were three locations grouped together; Everfree Clearing (Entrance to Equestria), Old Rope Bridge 04, and Zecora's Hut. I also had a new quest, and the first objective was Find Prince Timeithian, or as you know him, Red Dawn. I didn't have a hint as to where I could locate the male alicorn.

_'This is gonna be one hell of a vacation, I can already tell.'_ I thought with a grin before lying down and rolling onto my side.

_"What would you do if I ever ended up on your world?" Ivan to Dawn._

_"Get you out of jail for whatever your stupid ass did to get in trouble." Dawn's reply._


End file.
